Sign Special — FENRIC · July 24 – August 12

Thank you, Benedetto.

Fenric then, July 24th through August 12th, twenty days of the year, and the sign of Obsidian, a black volcanic glass born in fire and cooled in a single breath, an edge that keeps its sharpness for a thousand years, whose mood is strategic.

Vigilance, which is a polite way of saying this dog has already checked the weather, the locks, and the horizon twice before the rest of the house has found its shoes.

Fenric is the lookout of the pack, and it runs on the watch instinct, which means a surprise is not a delight to a Fenric.

A surprise is a failure of preparation.

Its gift is preparation.

The Fenric dog is alert, prepared, and holds one unshakable article of faith that whatever the day is planning has already been planned for, and there is a backup plan for the backup plan filed where everyone can find it.

While the rest of the pack is still deciding whether the noise outside was anything, the Fenric has identified it, noted the hour, and returned to its post at the high window because to a Fenric, that is precisely what a window is for.

Now, the other side of the page, because this paper tells the whole truth, this is a dog that has drawn up contingency plans for events that cannot happen.

It has rehearsed the evacuation for a flood during a drought, memorized the route to a shelter it has never needed, and once spent a long afternoon preparing in detail the possible arrival of a bear in a neighborhood that has never contained one.

The sign's great temptation is control, and its standing warning is a serious one delivered kindly.

Beware of fighting battles that never arrive, of spending the whole watch braced for an enemy that turns out on inspection to be the wind.

Under stress, the vigilance tightens into anxiety, and its one true companion fear is surprise.

Not danger, which it would meet with a plan and a schedule, but the terrible moment something happens that is nowhere in the plan, and the plan, for once, has nothing to say.

Its vice is control, its virtue is vigilance, the same eyes at rest or at war.

Its official motto is the whole biography in three words, "Just in case," and its favorite human excuse is the identical sentence which tells you everything.

To a Fenric, the motto and the excuse are the same words worn proudly in both directions.

Its natural habitat is the watchtower, anywhere there is a height to hold, a gate to monitor, and a household spread out below, all of it at all times within range of its concern.

Its lucky object is the lantern, its lucky place the watchtower, its lucky color charcoal gray, and its lucky food is jerky, which is, of course, a lookout's provisions it keeps indefinitely, travels anywhere, and asks nothing of anyone.

Rations for a siege that has been postponed indefinitely.

Its best match is Briar, the Jade sign, the settler who runs on patient stability, motto, "No rush," and who is the one dog in the pack whose calm never reads as carelessness to a Fenric because Briar has also prepared.

Briar has simply prepared to wait.

Its rival is Auriel, the Amber sign, the encourager who runs on warm cheerfulness, motto, "How bad could it be?" And who waves at every warning sign as though it were a parade banner pasted up in its honor while the Fenric has already read the label twice, tested the floor, noted the exits, and gone on watching just in case.